


Yelling

by wheel_pen



Series: Malachite [6]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luks is tired of listening to Malachite and Ahnah argue again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yelling

            Luks sighed, rubbed his eyes with his palms, dropped his pen on the desk in defeat. On a beautiful autumn day like today, with the sunlight streaming in through the large windows behind him (as much as it streamed this time of year), he would love to be walking through the woods out back, perhaps riding a horse through the meadows, even taking one of his fancy cars on a high-speed jaunt down a little-used country road. Instead he was sitting in his office behind a solid oak desk, staring at a pile of reports that were threatening to turn him cross-eyed, trying to concentrate on economics and ecology and other subjects he had determinedly avoided studying in school. And the muffled yelling in the hallway wasn’t helping him stay focused, either.

            “Malachite!” he called tiredly, running a hand through his hair. A moment later the yelling stopped and the dark-haired boy stuck his head around the door, green eyes questioning. “Would you _shut up_ , please?” It was the second time Luks had had to ask the boy to quiet down, and as far as he was concerned that was twice too often.

            “Sorry, Luks,” the teenager grumbled. “It’s just Ahnah, she won’t—“

            “Malachite, I don’t have time for your little problems right now, okay?” Luks didn’t enjoy being sharp with his favorite slave, but the barons were arriving tomorrow and they would expect him to know everything in these documents backwards and forwards. Malachite and his pet, Ahnah, were constantly arguing anyway—each time it was a new problem. “Just _stop it_.” The boy nodded, seemingly chastised, and disappeared.

            Luks shook his head and went back to the reports. Foreign trade agreements. Defense budgets. Public health statistics. National housing costs—an unmistakable but indecipherable voice in the hallway, followed swiftly by a higher-pitched one. Luks tried to ignore them. Natural resource allocation. Treasury inventory. National parks budget—“Why don’t you like the dress! It’s a nice dress!” Luks dropped his head on the desk.

            “It’s a slutty dress! You saw it on that slutty model on TV and that’s the only reason you want _me_ to wear it!”

            They couldn’t even go up to their rooms and argue? They had to do it right there in the hallway, in front of _his_ office? Luks supposed he should be grateful Malachite hadn’t burst through the doors demanding he settle this. Yet.

           “So what?! You’re only going to wear it around the house anyway, it’s not like anyone is going to see you in it but me—“

            “Then what’s the point?! What’s the point of wearing a nice dress—“

            Luks stood and marched to the door to the office, ripping it open. He couldn’t put up with this any longer. Ahnah saw him first and her eyes widened nervously; good. But Malachite was his first target. Luks grabbed the teenager by the front of his green t-shirt and hauled him up against the wall, hard. The boy was just startled enough not to resist, which was good, because if he had decided to plant his feet Luks would probably have ended up face-first on the floor, hardly a position conducive to meting out discipline.

            “I am trying to _work_ ,” Luks reminded him, their faces barely an inch apart. Malachite’s deep green eyes barely blinked as he watched his master warily. “I shouldn’t even have to tell you _once_ to quiet down, let alone _three times_.”

            “S-sorry, Luks, I was just—“

            “Shut up.” Luks dragged the boy over to the front doors, opened one, and shoved him out on the stoop, not caring if he stumbled down the stairs onto the driveway. “Don’t come back until suppertime, you understand?” Then he slammed the door.

            Turning slowly, Luks noticed that Ahnah had dropped to her knees, eyes firmly on her lap. He walked over across the tile until he stood right in front of her. “And as for you.” Luks rarely spoke to the girl he’d gotten for Malachite—he had no interest in her himself and found her, if anything, slightly annoying. “I am tired of hearing your screaming and whining all over the house. You do what Malachite tells you to do. Understand?” She nodded, but he cracked her across the cheek with the back of his hand anyway, sending her sprawling across the floor. “You’re a slave,” he reminded her, speaking over her choked-off sobs. “Don’t get above yourself.” Then Luks turned on his heel and went back to his office, slamming the doors behind him. Peace and quiet at last.


End file.
